


The Child

by irislim



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice (1995), Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Drama, F/M, Family, Forgiveness, Redemption, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26357620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irislim/pseuds/irislim
Summary: An untimely tryst during the Bennet sisters' Netherfield stay raises the stakes for Elizabeth and Darcy. He, determined to make things right, is shocked to hear of her engagement to another. She, burdened with an unforgivable secret, blames him for his abandonment. Will they ever find a way to harvest joy alongside the consequences their choices had sown?
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy
Comments: 229
Kudos: 285





	1. When Candles Burn Low

"Have I always been so thoroughly inconsiderate?" He raised his own glass for yet another sip.

Elizabeth did not know how many glasses she had managed to imbibe herself, but to answer this question, she simply had to empty her glass once more.

"Yes. You were utterly condescending from the start - from the Meryton Assembly, even."

Mr. Darcy sighed, lowering his chin towards his chest. He drank again.

She had partaken of her first drink as a dare from Miss Bingley - who had the audacity to jest that Elizabeth, once under the influence of strong drink, would act as senselessly as she did. That presumption was not to be borne, of course, and Elizabeth had promptly swallowed the contents of the first glass with bravado.

What she had not anticipated was the gentle haze that beset her the very next moment, and how easy it had been to continue to sneak sip after sip for the rest of the night, even after all the other occupants retired. The warmth of the drink pervaded her body, dulled her senses, and lowered her inhibitions. Under its influence, the room no longer felt as foreign or Miss Bingley's barbs as abrasive. Elizabeth felt comfort, of an oddly unworldly sort.

What she had truly not anticipated was how, an hour after everyone else had retreated to their rooms, Mr. Darcy had stridden back into the Netherfield drawing room, his own steps uneven.

"Shall we drink together, Miss Elizabeth?" He had offered, drink in hand.

"Very well," in her fogginess, she had replied.

Their conversations flowed freely once he sat down on the other end of the couch she occupied. She spoke of his disdain for him, and he of his discomfiting preference for her. They laughed at each other - and then they drank, and gazed, and talked, and drank some more.

Until now, here he was, a handsome and broken man - frowning at her disapproval of him.

"Mr. Darcy," she said gently, reaching out a hand to rest on his shoulder.

He looked at her with sorrowful eyes, eyes brimming of apology and regret.

"Forgive me, Elizabeth," he whispered.

To hold grudges against him now would be as cruel as withholding sweets from a helpless, pleading child.

"I forgive you - " Her words were cut short by the sensation of his lips upon hers.

She gasped, her hands barely able to slide her glass upon the nearby table before closing around the sides of his neck.

"Mr. Darcy," she whispered, or tried to reprimand, when he pulled slightly away. The sensation of his kiss was warm, ardent, and all-encompassing. It was the first thing she truly, fully felt since the effects of her first drink had set in.

He hovered close, the length of his body still stretched mostly over the breadth of the couch. The shadows on his jaw defined every ridge and plain of his features. He radiated warmth, and Elizabeth began to feel that she needed that warmth very much.

"Shall I have to beg your forgiveness again, Elizabeth?" He spoke with a deep, rumbling tone - it was a tone that stirred the lakes of her heart into ocean-like waves.

Her fingers caressed his face, much like the way his words caressed her soul.

"I would say you do not have to - sir."

He kissed her immediately. And this time, she participated fully in kissing him back.

Their bodies aligned of their own accord, her limbs sliding pliantly beneath the weight of his frame. Their kisses grew in depth, in frequency, and in ardor. Hands wandered, and legs entwined.

And when they stumbled unceremoniously onto the floor, in grunts and giggles, he helped her up to her feet just for her to swing bonelessly into his arms.

"Elizabeth," he smiled.

"Mr. Darcy." She grinned back.

The world spun. He alone remained solidly beneath her arms.

"Shall I help you to your room?" He offered then, though a hint of sadness glistened in his eyes.

"My room?" She echoed, her mind airy and light. She slid her arms on his shoulders, her hands clasping behind his neck. She kissed him, wholeheartedly. "Quite a gentleman you are, Mr. Darcy."

Perhaps it was the way she spoke - or the way she pressed her body so wantonly against his chest - but his eyes darkened immediately, his arms anchoring themselves around her waist much closer than they had before.

"Shall I take you to - _my_ room then - my love?"

She had no other excuses for why she smiled, nodded, and leaned close to his ear to whisper, "Yes."

* * *

She came to, with a dry mouth and a sober mind, in the darkest part of the night, an hour before the break of dawn. The fast realization that she wore nothing at all was swiftly followed by the even more humbling cognizance of the fact that her vague, fervent dreams had not been dreams - but very real events she had lived through - perhaps enthusiastically participated in - with the person sleeping beside her now.

The minimal light from the last few embers in the fireplace gave her just enough illumination to know whose bed she shared at the moment - had so shamelessly shared the entire night.

Her cheeks burnt.

A few wandering touches led her to find her evening dress - ripped at the neck and stained in the skirts.

It was a stain that spoke volumes of how thoroughly they had acted the night before.

With a sniff that she managed to keep as quiet as she could, she slipped her desecrated body into her desecrated garments, slipped silently through the door, and fled for the room she shared with Jane.

She hadn't anticipated last night's events ever occurring - though, of course, any gentlelady worth her salt would never have.

Never, in her strangest and wildest dreams would she have pegged herself to have been capable of acting so wantonly - so clouded in her judgment by a moment of fervor.

It had started as a simple conversation between two individuals.

But these two individuals - Mr. Darcy and she - had managed to turn stifled insults in the drawing room into heated kisses on that couch - and, she blushed to remember, even more heated actions in his bedroom.

Speaking had turned so quickly to arguing, arguing to kissing, kissing to embracing, and embracing to tangled limbs and laden breath. She hardly remembered how one activity had morphed into the next - but she knew that they had both been intoxicated, too twisted in their minds to say no to whatever beastly desires burnt in their blood.

So here she sat, Elizabeth Bennet the maid no longer, staring into the fireplace as it destroyed her tainted clothes, all while her sister slept soundly two mere yards away. She had fled Mr. Darcy's room the very first moment she could, eager to escape all evidence of what she had done.

Now she wondered if she should have waked him before she stole away like a thief in the night.

But the morning light had begun to seep into the sky - and, soon, the servants would be up and about, their pattering steps and muted words echoing from the floor below. Soon, Mr. Darcy's valet and the handmaiden the Bingleys had lent her and Jane would arrive in each respective guest room.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and swallowed, painfully, before she sighed.

She mourned.

She mourned the events that she had allowed to transpire. She mourned her audacity at accepting Miss Bingley's dare. She mourned her foolishness when the candles burnt low. She mourned her pride, her stupidity, and her weakness in the face of passion.

No one could know of what had transpired. The passions and promises of the night - mingled amidst their repeated indiscretions - had to remain between her and the man next door for the rest of their lives.

Sometime, some hours and a lifetime ago, there had been vows pledged and assurances made. She realized, even in the light of her current sobriety, that if Mr. Darcy asked her to marry him, she would.

The man between the sheets had been so very different from the man in the Meryton Assembly ballroom that she was certain she could grow to love him.

But she would only do so - if he asked.

For Elizabeth Bennet refused to be a burden of a bride betrothed only due to compromise.

She would rather remain unmarried for the rest of her life - than be a woman whose husband resented her.

Outside, the cock crowed.

Elizabeth eyed the closets that held the limited possessions she and Jane had brought to Netherfield. She listened to the way Jane breathed now - clear and strong.

And Elizabeth realized that she could not bear to be in this place a moment longer. She would insist, with her entire being, that they return to Longbourn before the rest of the house could wake.


	2. The Truth of His Heart

He had woken to an empty room, the stains on his sheets the only proof of his uncharacteristic night of impulse. He had not dreamt it. She had been here. They had shared their bodies and minds and souls - and she would be his.

But then he had heard his valet's footsteps approaching - and hurled the evidence of his liaison harshly into the fire. The servants did not ask, but he found himself conjuring an uncomfortable falsehood about an upset stomach nonetheless.

It took him a far more extensive period of time than he would have preferred to ready himself for the day.

He remembered now, with unlikely clarity, how easily their actions had escalated - how fitting it had been to have her in his arms.

He remembered, even, the feeling of being slightly jostled around as she had rolled off the bed.

He had not expected her to flee under the cover of night, but even he had to acknowledge that it had been a wise choice from her.

Here he was, a glutton of his own carnal desires, rousing far closer to noon than he ever did. Even in the aftermath, she had acted more wisely.

He mused quietly to himself as he finally slid into his shoes.

It may have taken the foolishness of his body to convince him of the truth of his heart - but here he was now, unmistakably enamored with the remarkable woman that was Elizabeth Bennet.

And he would take himself to London for that special license this very day.

The very thought of nightly passions as reckless as theirs the night before thrilled him to the core.

It was not an ideal courtship. He owed her more.

But he was determined to invest everything he could into ensuring that she wanted for nothing as his fiancée and bride. For she deserved it all, and more.

"Mr. Darcy," the servants greeted, when he entered the breakfast room.

It was empty.

Bingley and his family had not roused - that much was evident.

"Are the Bennet sisters still in their rooms?" He addressed the footman.

It would not be inappropriate, after all, if they wished to tarry until their hosts were ready to receive them. In the past few days, Darcy had met Miss Elizabeth alone breaking fast only once.

"Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth has departed for Longbourn."

Darcy stilled.

"They have gone - home?"

"Yes, sir." The bow was every bit deferential, though the news its instigator's words bore were far less welcome to Darcy.

The master of Pemberley frowned. "Have they left word?"

"A note of thanks for Miss Bingley, sir."

Darcy sighed, his mind scrambling.

Had his drowsiness, fueled by the exhaustion from their shared fervor, led Elizabeth to believe that he planned to desert her?

No - he could not allow it!

"Thank you," said Darcy to the befuddled footman, before he strode quickly back to his room.

_My Dearest Elizabeth,_

_I shall surely return. Do not fret. Do not worry. I shall not forsake you and shall return with the means to marry you posthaste._

_Devotedly yours,_   
_Fitzwilliam Darcy_

Rushed as he was, Darcy had little time to consider how well he formed his letters or how carefully he sealed the note.

"Please deliver this to Miss Elizabeth Bennet," he managed to say to the first footman he encountered in the hall. Then he was soon mounted on his horse and well on his way towards his special license in London.

* * *

"Please deliver this to Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

Caroline's head ached most unbecomingly from her early rising today - but the echo of Mr. Darcy's words brought her into full alertness right away.

She watched, from beyond the turn of the corner, how their visitor rushed down the stairs in a frenzy, already hollering for his steed before he fully arrived on the lower floor.

She frowned, wondering.

Then, with the full powers vested in her as the current mistress of Netherfield, she called for the befuddled footman - and demanded that he hand her the note.

"Miss Bingley, Mr. Darcy asked that - "

"I heard him. I heard him fully." She stood as tall as she could. "It is my duty as your mistress to govern the affairs of our guests."

"The instructions - "

"Were to deliver the missive to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, were they not?" Caroline knew the full power of her arched brow.

The footman nodded.

"I shall see to it myself. You may go." She dismissed the boy with a wave of her hand - and made sure that she walked far away enough to read the purloined letter in private.

With every word she read, Caroline shuddered just slightly more. How dare the lowly country woman sink her claws into the most eligible Mr. Darcy!

Caroline huffed in anger, her steps growing increasingly harsher as she paced the length of the hall. She had tried, repeatedly, to ease into the good graces of the revered Darcy family and their inner circles. She had attempted for years to assert herself as the only and rightful candidate to become Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

What did Miss Elizabeth do to engage his attentions so quickly?

What could she possibly have done to warrant being the recipient of a private missive, to be addressed as his 'dearest Elizabeth'?

With the true fury of a woman scorned, Caroline Bingley crumpled the note in her hand, stormed into her room, and tossed the item of disgust into the fire. Miss Elizabeth's wiles would not be permitted to prevail - not under her watch.

And panting by the fire, Caroline formed the only plan that she could still bring to pass.

She did not know why Mr. Darcy left, but she knew that he fully intended to return.

But how was he to return if there was nowhere for him to stay in Hertfordshire?

With narrowed eyes and fisted hands, Caroline decided then and there that Miss Elizabeth must be informed of Mr. Darcy's departure - before the rest of the Netherfield party abandoned this godforsaken county themselves.

* * *

"Master Darcy."

"Whatever it is, Mrs. Johnson, I am certain it can wait." Darcy sped from the entrance of Darcy House to the study of his town home in the span of a single breath. He owed it to Elizabeth to act post-haste. It was his duty as a gentleman, as a Christian, as the young master of a grand estate.

It was true that he had failed to live up to those three identities in the past four and twenty hours. If anything, he had only managed to prove to his dear Elizabeth how little he deserved to be called by any of those three titles.

But he was determined to establish to her that he was a better man, who had merely come across her at a moment of grave weakness. He would marry her, and he would love her, with all and everything in his entire being.

She deserved to marry a man worthy of her mind, her wit, and her confident determination. He would prove to her with the urgency of his actions that he was such a man.

"Master Darcy, please, sir - "

"I have no time to lose, Mrs. Johnson." Darcy struggled to remain polite. He was not proud of the times he would lose his temper towards the help - and he was striving to remain civil despite his great agitation. "I have an important call to make this very afternoon."

"Sir, there is a letter - "

"My correspondences can wait." Darcy surveyed the items on his desk. There were some items of business that he had to consider. He had also to meet with his lawyer to determine Elizabeth's settlement. The rashness of their passions last night had condensed the length of a usual courtship, engagement, and marriage to little more than a matter of days. It was imperative that he acted swiftly and precisely. "The business that I have to attend to is one that requires my full attention. It is my express wish that it conclude quickly and successfully. Any letters or invitations sent to me may be left on my desk. I shall attend to them as soon as I can."

"It is from Miss Darcy," Mrs. Johnson persisted.

Darcy paused.

He had been waiting to hear from his sister for weeks. He had even asked the post repeatedly if any letters of his had been lost in transport while being forwarded from London to Netherfield.

"Several?" He asked the woman who managed his town home for him.

"One, sir. It arrived yesterday." Mrs. Johnson approached to offer the sealed envelope to him.

Darcy glanced at the stationery - and quickly took hold of it.

"Thank you, Mrs. Johnson. I appreciate your understanding of my desire to read my sister's letter."

"Of course, sir." The portly housekeeper curtsied before departing the room.

It was not a day for delicacies, and Darcy extracted the contents of the letter with little to no grace as he sat down to peruse its contents - to find, perhaps, an explanation for why his sister had not written since the beginning of her stay at Ramsgate.

_Dear Fitzwilliam,_

_I apologize for having been so thoroughly distracted as to neglect writing to you for the past fortnight. Mrs. Younge has admitted to having neglected her reports herself. It has been so thoroughly delightful here at Ramsgate. I am certain you can forgive me for having been otherwise preoccupied!_

_While not possessing the wild and rugged views of Derbyshire, Kent has offered such beautiful views of the ocean that I have no cause to repine. I spend every day on the shore, counting the sails and smiling at sailors. Mrs. Younge has been suffering so many of her headaches and has not had the opportunity to enjoy the scenery with me. But do not fret! I do not wander around alone. I am mostly duly accompanied by the most charming of companions._

_Oh, my dear brother, I am in love! A day after our arrival at Ramsgate, who should appear in the town as well but George Wickham? Surely, you remember him? We have spent so many hours each day in each other's company that I can scarcely imagine a life without him. I know you might not approve of my being courted before I am even out, but I am certain you can make an exception for a childhood friend whom you also care very much for? George has been everything lovely, and I cannot wait to marry him._

_I miss you dearly, Fitzwilliam. I shall meet you soon - and perhaps, as the Lord wills - with a new name!_

_Your sister,_   
_Georgiana Darcy_

Darcy shook, the letter crumpled in his hand. His vision blurred in anger.

He struggled to his feet, his every limb still shuddering in utmost outrage.

How dare George Wickham - the horrendous blackguard - attempt to deceive his sister!

Elizabeth had his note. Elizabeth would wait. Elizabeth was an understanding woman who would agree that they could afford a week's delay for the benefit of his sister.

Shaking still, Darcy hollered for a fresh horse to be prepared.

Elizabeth, his dear Elizabeth, could wait - for just a few days more.

The gravity of his sister's circumstances could not.

He scribbled a letter to Bingley, and included a note to Elizabeth within. Bingley would understand. Bingley would help him.

It was the least that he could do.

Before the sun had climbed fully up to its noontime post, Darcy found himself seated once more on his fastest horse - with a note left behind for his beloved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes never were reliable, were they?


	3. A Sacrifice of Her Own Making

The raindrops fell from the sky one after another - every globe of water ending in a splash on the ground or the window sill. Elizabeth remained where she sat by the window, eyes fixed on a point far beyond the present.

The news Miss Bingley brought this morning still echoed in her mind.

"Mr. Darcy has departed, and I see no reason why the rest of us should tarry further," the affable Mr. Bingley's less affable sister had declared in Longbourn's sitting room. "There is so much to do in town and so little to do here. The neighbors behave so uncouthly that it is no wonder that Mr. Darcy has fled the county's lowly company the first opportunity he could!"

And with that declaration - the opening in Elizabeth's heart that she had still been hopefully keeping free - slammed shut with a loud, decisive thud.

Did Mr. Darcy ever mean a single word he had whispered between the sheets on that fateful night in Netherfield?

He had called her beguiling, entrancing - bewitching, even. He had appeared genuinely distressed at how he had insulted her at the assembly, and his petitions for her forgiveness had led Elizabeth to believe that he was a man she could learn to love.

And even if their physical passions had escalated beyond what their mutual acquaintances could justify - she had been willing, up until she'd stumbled home with a newly-recovered Jane - to accept any wedding proposal he would extend - that they may spend the rest of their lives learning and loving each other.

But instead he left.

He left her - as one would an unwanted animal after a gruesome hunt.

He left her - abandoning her to whatever consequences may result of their sin.

Elizabeth sobbed, thankful that the noise of the rain covered the sounds she emitted.

How could he?

How could a man who professed to be a gentleman treat a gentleman's daughter with so little regard, respect, or humanity?

Did he not know that he had ruined her completely with his actions? Did he not realize that their liaison compromised not just her fate - but the fate of every young lady still residing at Longbourn?

She had thought him better.

She had hoped him better.

Now, the knowledge that Netherfield would be empty by tomorrow morning caused Elizabeth's heart to knot itself and sink another foot every hour.

She was ruined.

She would never marry, and she could only hope that none of the Netherfield servants had discovered any evidence of their tryst - lest her sisters be rendered ineligible as well.

"Lizzy," Jane's voice emerged in the room they shared.

Elizabeth moved quickly to wipe her face dry.

"Papa was asking for you." Jane sat on the only bed in the room, her voice brimming with compassion. "I believe he had received some letters that he found amusing and wished to share with you. Are you well?"

Elizabeth wiped her face one more time, for good measure, before turning to face her sister.

Her smile was forced.

"I am tired, Jane. And I - I suffer for you knowing that Mr. Bingley is departing Hertfordshire."

Jane smiled and shook her head. "It is no matter. He is a good man - but there shall be others."

"You do not like him, Jane?"

"I - " Jane blushed slightly. Elizabeth wondered at how her sister - how anyone in the entire world today - could remain so calm. "I have always preferred someone closer to home."

Elizabeth paused.

She struggled to drag herself out of the sorrows of her own despair to examine the hopes of her favorite sister.

"John Lucas, Jane?"

Jane nodded primly.

Elizabeth's heart clenched.

It clenched in comfort and joy for her sister - and grief and regret for herself.

Why did she even have to aspire to the affections of wandering, handsome men? Why did she even allow herself to be fascinated with the character of a person who was virtually a stranger to her?

The hallways of her mind still echoed with the loving promises Mr. Darcy had whispered in her ears as their bodies united. Her arms still tingled at the memory of his caresses and embrace.

Jane - beautiful and pure and kind - deserved a happy ending to her story.

It was beyond unfortunate that Elizabeth could no longer have such hopes for herself.

"Oh, Jane," she said instead.

"Thank you, Lizzy."

* * *

Three long weeks passed - three weeks of worrying and wondering and fearing the worst. Mama's open speculations that Mr. Collins would propose to her second daughter began almost the very moment the pudgy parson darkened Longbourn's door. Papa seemed to be amused by the charade. Perhaps he knew that his favorite daughter, under normal circumstances, would never allow the odious man within ten feet of her hand.

What Papa did not know was that Elizabeth's circumstances were far, far from normal.

"Mr. Collins is a bore!" Lydia had complained but yesterday, not a minute after the sexes separated post supper.

"He does seem rather dull," Kitty had agreed.

Even Mary, for all her stoic forbearance, had found no humor in their graceless cousin's ceaseless droning during the entire ten days the family had been forced to accommodate his presence thus far.

It was clear to all - except, perhaps, Mama - that there was no possible reason for Elizabeth to accept any hint of a proposal from the fool.

But it was not clear to anyone but Elizabeth that there was a reason she emptied her breakfast this morning almost as soon as she had consumed it. It became apparent, by the hour, that her courses did not merely tarry - but were determined not to come. The lightheadedness she felt of late - and the incongruous yearning she felt for fruits not in season - all pointed to one life-defining truth.

She was with child.

In her womb, she carried the bastard child of Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire.

And she was utterly terrified.

"Does he bother you very much?" Jane asked today, as they wandered Longbourn's limited gardens together.

Elizabeth was slow to respond. So despondent had her attitudes been of late. Her hands knotted in her skirts. "You refer to Mr. Collins?"

"Yes. He does seem to be rather enamored of you."

"I suppose."

Mr. Collins was _not_ enamored with her - that much Elizabeth knew. If anything, the parson was enamored with his patroness, and his desire for the lady's good opinions was what truly drove him to consider his matrimonial prospects.

But Elizabeth's quiet desperation grew with every passing day.

And she had no one to tell - no confidante's empathy to court.

Jane, fresh with the glow of her recent engagement to John Lucas, could not be called upon to bear a burden so dear.

Elizabeth's choices had been her own.

Her sorrow would be her own too.

"Fair cousins!" Mr. Collins squeals echoed across the gardens. It was not a large garden, but the stocky man huffed as he trekked across it, arriving in front of Jane and Elizabeth with a very red face and a very short breath. "May I - may I speak to Cousin Elizabeth?"

Jane's eyes took on a pained look, but Elizabeth bid her to go.

In another month or two, she would be showing. There was no other way.

"Lizzy - "

"Go, Jane. Tell Papa I am in conference with Mr. Collins."

Jane looked worried, still, despite Elizabeth's conviction.

Elizabeth only loved her sister more for how much she cared.

"Cousin Elizabeth." Mr. Collins stepped nearer just as Jane disappeared into the house. Elizabeth wished to run, to hide, and to spit in the face of her stupid relative.

But she refrained.

"Yes, Mr. Collins?"

"I believe you know why I seek to speak with you."

Elizabeth nodded wordlessly.

"My noble patroness, the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh, has so wisely deigned to advise me that it is best for me to seek a wife amongst my cousins during this trip," Mr. Collins continued, sounding extremely pompous as he spoke, as if he was attempting to bestow a great honor. "I believe you to be most worthy of this honor."

Elizabeth wished to strike him.

Elizabeth did not.

"Shall we marry, Cousin Elizabeth?"

It was a horrific proposal - devoid of kindness or a modicum of romance. It was a proposition from a man who cared far too much for himself and far too little for the lady to whom he spoke.

It was a very, _very_ far cry from the tenderness she had received under Mr. Darcy's ministrations.

But what of Mr. Darcy - the man who had abandoned her so heartlessly? What right did he still have to exert such influence over her heart?

What would happen to her sisters if Elizabeth had no husband to show when the curve of her belly inevitably increased?

She had known only for two days that she was with child - and yet, already, she wanted nothing but good for the life within her.

How could she curse her child with a bastard state?

To marry Mr. Collins would be the ultimate sacrifice for her sisters and her child. The alliance would condemn her to a life of boredom at best and abuse at worst. There were no prospects of happiness with this proposal.

But there was a prospect, however slim, of redemption.

And how could she not take it?

"Yes, Mr. Collins," she replied, voice shaking, "we shall."

It was a terrifying sacrifice - but it was a sacrifice of her own making.

And Elizabeth was keen to see through it to the end.

* * *

Darcy slung himself off of his horse and on to the ground. His heart sighed.

Before him, Darcy House loomed. Behind him, the footmen coaxed his sister to desert the carriage - to, at last, come home.

Darcy closed his eyes as the weight of the past few weeks washed over him once more.

A mere month ago, his greatest worry in life was how he would pass the tiring hours in the countryside at Bingley's impulsive new lease. Just over a fortnight before, he was a man in control of his life, his home, his tendencies, and his sister.

Who could have foreseen the life-changing occurrence that was Miss Elizabeth's entrance into his life? Who could have known that the woman he had dismissed so easily the first night of his arrival at Hertfordshire would become the one person who dwelled in his mind and heart at all hours these past twenty-one days?

And then there was his sister - and the ignoble chase her alliance with Wickham had caused.

"Fitzwilliam," Georgiana murmured beside him now - head bowed and frame wilted.

"Enter first," Darcy commanded.

She obeyed.

And as with every movement between them these past days, his sister's steps felt farther and longer than they truly were - each step a further tug on the loosened thread of their already-unravelling relationship.

He had failed her as a brother.

He had failed to appoint a fitting companion for her. He had failed to guard her against the wiles of wild men. He had almost failed to extract from her the details of Wickham's comings and goings - that he may find his former childhood friend and commit him to the law for all the money he had extracted from Georgiana and Mrs. Younge.

It was a pity that the law could not punish Wickham for what Darcy _truly_ wished to condemn - the theft of his sister's heart.

And so it was that after nearly a month of tears, fears, and rubbing shoulders with rough company, Wickham had finally been apprehended and imprisoned.

And every night of that wearisome month, Darcy had longed to end his troubled day by coming home to the arms of his Elizabeth.

But he still had to wait a little more, a little longer.

Tomorrow, he would speak to the archbishop. Tomorrow, he would consult his lawyer and review the terms of the settlement.

The sun had long disappeared under the horizon, Georgiana had long sunken into the shadows of her room - a withdrawn shell of her former self - when Darcy entered and sat alone in his study, his eyes gazing into the fire.

His own indiscretions, added to the foolishness of his sister, resulted in the most trying hour of his young life yet.

But he was determined to overcome it all.

Wickham had been found, Georgiana had been made to return home - and Darcy would see to it himself that his marriage to Miss Elizabeth be the next thing done.

He would not break. He could not allow himself to be broken.

But the next morning, before Darcy could step out the door to pay his much-needed visit to the church, and still laden with the frustration over Georgiana's persistent refusal to speak to him, Bingley and his sisters called.

And Bingley and his sisters - with little ceremony - delivered the news that they had departed Hertfordshire a mere day after Darcy did.

And with even less ceremony, Miss Bingley exclaimed how wonderful it was that her brother and friend had escaped the Miss Bennets' clutches - for the eldest two sisters were already engaged to be married.

"The eldest two?" Darcy uttered without thought. "Surely, you pertain to the other sisters?"

"Miss Jane and Miss Elizabeth are engaged - one to a neighbor and another to a cousin," Miss Bingley replied, with her head held high. "They did not wait long to move on, it seems."

Darcy felt his fists tighten, even as Bingley sang the praises of the the young lady he had met during last night's dinner.

And inside of him, invisibly yet all-too-keenly, Darcy broke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I always want Elizabeth and Darcy together, and although I adore their passion, I have always intended to portray their Netherfield tryst in a negative light. They deserve a true courtship and a wonderful wedding night. Misplaced passions will only result in pain before they get their hard-earned HEA. Please bear with me!


	4. The Highest Possible Responsibility

_**Five Months Later** _

* * *

Darcy had arrived in Rosings for but a day when he began to lose all tolerance for Aunt Catherine's most favored topic this year. That her nephews could have no possible investment in her ridiculous parson's recent marriage seemed to elude her completely, and the mistress of Rosings Park never let an hour pass without mentioning just how wise she had been to advise her parson to marry his cousin and to impregnate her right away.

It took Darcy less than a day - less than an afternoon, truly - to conclude that the new Mrs. Collins must have been a most desperate woman on the shelf to have allowed herself to marry a man so wholly under his aunt's control.

What dignity was there in being beholden to a person who was beholden to the self-absorbed and ever-entitled Lady Catherine de Bourgh?

"You see, Darcy, Fitzwilliam," their aunt began again this afternoon, perhaps freshly powered by her generous intake of food this morning. "It is always proper for a man to marry quite as soon as he can afford a wife. One would do well to produce an heir in one's youth."

"Yes, Aunt Catherine," Darcy muttered, his eyes trained on the greenery he could glimpse through the window. Oh how close freedom felt! It was a pity that he had no other friends within reach in Kent, no one to parry as an excuse against keeping his aunt's unpleasant company.

Richard, to his credit, seemed only to be mildly amused.

"You will do well to learn from my parson, Darcy. You have met the man, have you not?"

"We met the year before."

"Ah, yes, then you must know how wholly devoted he is to me."

"Yes, Aunt Catherine." Darcy made sure to sigh inaudibly. It was at least quite easy to hide his turmoil beneath his constant frown. He always frowned these days. The last night he smiled - the last time he laughed - was during an untimely tryst in Netherfield Park, with the most remarkable woman he had ever met in his arms.

It was a night he both cursed and blessed in his memories.

"He and his wife have been married but a month when he dutifully reported that - " Aunt Catherine resumed her never-ending recourse on the wisdom of her stodgy parson.

Darcy closed his eyes.

This trip, long expected of him and Richard, had caused him to be parted from Georgiana for the first time since the incident at Ramsgate. Darcy had tried, in multiple ways, to rekindle his friendship with his sister.

Every attempt had ended in vain.

And here he sat, a prisoner in Rosings Park, waffling between a desire to escape the shadows of his life and a resignation to the inevitability of a sorrowful existence.

"Darcy, you must listen." His aunt's unfortunate voice re-entered his consciousness.

Darcy sighs. "Yes, Aunt Catherine."

Richard - the idiot - smirked.

"You see, Nephew, that if you and Anne had married sooner, even now there would be children roaming these halls." The great Lady Catherine gestured at the great halls of her great home.

Darcy shook his head. "That is not to be, Aunt."

"Nonsense! It was the most express wish of your late mother."

"Perhaps," Darcy muttered, "but it is not mine."

"Darcy, you are frightening impertinent. What has happened to the thoughtful child you once were?"

"Perhaps his actions have led to his eventual damnation." Darcy groaned.

"Fitzwilliam Darcy!"

It was clear that Lady Catherine meant to stand and berate his nephew.

It was equally clear that Richard was about to lean back in his chair and enjoy the budding argument.

But the footman arrived, just in the nick of time, and announced that Mr. Collins had come to call on his patroness - and Darcy was, for the first time in his life, slightly thankful for the existence of the stodgy parson.

Patroness and parson greeted each other enthusiastically, each clearly well-pleased with the state of their mutual adoration. Darcy wondered once again what kind of woman would marry the fool.

"I must apologize, Lady Catherine, that my foolish wife has chosen this most untimely moment to relent to her physical weaknesses. I apologize most profusely for her inability to call on your ladyship and your noble nephews." The parson bowed constantly, every movement charged with affected grandiosity. "I insisted to her that she _must_ recover by the morrow to pay her respects. She has assured me that she will do so."

Darcy sighed again.

His previous visits had never been pleasant.

This year's seemed poised to be outright insufferable.

"Aunt Catherine," Richard said then, just before their aunt and the man under her employ could begin another round of exulting Lady Catherine's nonexistent wisdom. "Perhaps Darcy and I ought to visit Mrs. Collins. You have instructed us often, after all, of the importance of tending to the occupants of one's property."

Richard, for all his weaselly mischief, was a clever man - and knew just what to say to have their aunt grant her ready consent.

Darcy knew, of course, that the moment the cousins left the grounds immediately connected to the house, Richard would quickly relinquish any pretense and be off to court his merry maidens in the village. The soldier was, like his brother, a man ever popular with the ladies, after all.

But today was indeed insufferable - so Darcy was quick to join Richard's charade - and to leave the house with him.

"You are a jolly good sport today, Darce." Richard grinned when they rounded the bend in the road, finally removing themselves from any view of the house. "Thank you for sending my regards to Mrs. Collins."

Darcy sighed. He sighed very often these days.

 _Someone_ must at least fulfill the call they told the great lady would happen.

"Enjoy your hours under the sun." Darcy bid his cousin goodbye.

Richard responded with a wink even as he skipped away.

All on his own, at last, Darcy took his time towards the parsonage.

The path was not long, and Darcy tarried only for a few moments before realizing how little he liked being left alone with his dreary thoughts - thoughts filled with moments and feelings he would much rather not re-imagine. And, in a quick plan to avoid said thoughts, he picked up his pace and strode firmly towards the Hunsford parsonage.

It was not his first call. He had visited a few parsons here before the current buffoon had come to take residence. It was expected that he turn around the final bend, that he walk through the gate - that he walked up to the house politely before asking for the mistress of the house.

He planned on exercising every civility.

But his plans and expectations - his every semblance of normalcy - all rolled into a blundering boulder and crashed into the bottom of the mountain - the moment he turned around to greet Mrs. Collins.

"Mr. - Darcy." Her face paled; her voice shook. Her hands - oh her hands - leapt quickly around the bulging belly beneath her bosom.

Elizabeth - _his_ Elizabeth - was the mysterious Mrs. Collins.

And the arms that had embraced him less than half a year ago now wrapped themselves around another man's child.

* * *

"You - " The person before her - the man who was all at once the last and first person in the world that she wished to see - shook as he took her in. Elizabeth swallowed. "You are - with child."

The spat rather than said his last two words.

Elizabeth trembled.

She had imagined them crossing paths - far too often than she ought to have - innumerable times in the trial that was the last five months. She had dreamt of romantic reunions in sprawling woodlands. She had considered, even, the hardened civility they had to present if they met each other in a stuffy ballroom, or a stilted dinner party.

Not once had the possibility even occurred to her that she would re-encounter him like this - two deer caught at the sight of a rumbling carriage.

"I - I am," she managed to mutter, her breath already short. Her hands wounds themselves even more tightly around her growing belly.

It was a large child, the doctor said often, and Elizabeth hoped again and again that her babe's unusual size did not cause anyone to suspect that it had been conceived more than a month before her mother's hasty marriage.

Mr. Collins had not been in the position to procure a special license, and Elizabeth had been forced to wait - with a sinking panic that weighed heavier by the day - until the banns had been read.

She remembered vividly, to this day, the desperate disgust that filled her as she dragged her unappealing husband to the marriage bed on their wedding night. She paid full dues for her eagerness to consummate the marriage at first chance. Her idiotic husband believed the chicken's blood she had dripped on their sheets as a sign of her virginity - but she had lost all and any odds she had at gaining his respect.

He believed himself desirable to her. Mama had certainly played her part in convincing him so.

And Elizabeth's life had been nothing but a living hell since that cursed day - the day she sold her life in penance for her sin.

"You are - you are here." The man who had been her lover shuddered in front of her. His breaths were clearly laden. "You - married - Mr. Collins?"

Elizabeth strove to blink away the tears that assaulted her. Yes, she had married the toad. Yes, she had committed herself to a life she detested.

But she would never have had to make such a choice without his heartless abandonment!

"I did." Her voice trembled. Her vision blurred too.

"You - Elizabeth." The way her name escaped his lips reminded her keenly of the last time she had heard it - whispered in passion in a tangle of limbs. "You married - _why_?"

Her eyes flew up to his. The depths of her heart, flooded with sorrow, paused in uncertainty.

"Why?" She echoed.

"Why would you - why have you - " He threw his hands away in the air, as if at a loss. He began to pace - left and right, then right and left. "You - you did not wait - why _him_. Of all the - "

He stopped in front of her, a thundering presence that, even now, felt utterly magnetic to her.

"How _could_ you?" He growled to her face.

And the sorrow that had paused in her heart - now whisked itself up in unbridled, indignant anger.

"How could _I?"_ She screamed. He flinched - but did not step away. "How could _I_ have married that useless fool of a man, you dare ask?"

"Yes," he insisted. "Had it all meant nothing to you? Were you so easy to convince to turn your heart and your body from one man to the next?"

"I - "

"I had thought you a woman of virtue. I had thought you a gentleman's daughter. How could you be so - _flippant_ and faithless at the face of - "

She cut off his words with a long, hard slap.

Her tears flowed freely down her face. Her fingers trembled. Her stomach clenched.

"How _dare_ you - _you_ \- call me faithless and flippant."

He waited, frowning, perhaps still absorbing the weight of her assault, before turning his face back towards her.

Gone was the veil of romance in her eyes. Gone was the mist of uncertainty and intrigue.

He stood before her now as he was - a tall, foreboding, stubborn man - a man she had every right to abuse as much as she wished.

"Why do you think I would _ever_ choose to marry that toad of my own volition?" She seethed, tears unceasing. "Who but _you_ bears the highest possible responsibility for my current predicament?"

Every word cut her.

He appeared unbothered - until the he _finally_ seemed to hear the weight of her words.

And the fire in his eyes was snuffed away.

* * *

"Elizabeth!" He cried.

Her words struck him like a curse, knocking his righteous senses off their undeserved pedestal and down the depths of the pit below. Elizabeth - _his_ Elizabeth - wept freely before him, and Darcy could not help but reach to wipe her flooded cheeks with his trembling hands.

"Elizabeth," he whispered, his voice as naked as his soul.

Why indeed would she, would anyone of decent standing, marry the whimpering fool that was Mr. Collins? What sort of woman could bear a life of constant obeisance to Aunt Catherine, a patroness who thought it her right to govern every single facet of her parson's life?

"Elizabeth," Darcy cried again, now with tears of his own.

He leaned forward, his temple against her brow, his tears bleeding into her hair. It was _his_ actions that led to this - his distractions that kept him from protecting her when she needed his protection most.

The thought of her at her most vulnerable pierced Darcy's heart. How did she manage to find in herself the resilience necessary to take such drastic steps to preserve her family - and their child? All the disillusionment he had thought he felt over her in the past months reversed themselves in a wave of ceaseless regret.

He - _he_ was to blame.

The passions they shared at Netherfield, and the fact that he had never returned, led to the harshness of the life she inhabited now.

"Forgive me, Elizabeth." He fell to his knees, his hands clinging to her skirts.

He did not deserve her. He did not deserve her forgiveness.

"I did not know - I had been told - " Darcy's words came as broken as his heart. Sobs wrecked his body. He who professed to love her - contributed directly to her ruination.

Could he not have waited to court her? Could he not have chosen, at any point of their liaison, to cool their roaring ardor and promise to speak to her father the very next day?

"I meant to return," Darcy spoke through his tears, "I indicated as much in my note. Did you - did you not receive it, my love?"

He looked up through his blurred eyes. He felt her hesitate.

"A note?" She echoed hollowly.

"I wrote one to you - the very next morning. I promised to return with a special license posthaste. I - " Sobs overcame him once more. With a gentleness he did not deserve, Elizabeth nudged him back to stand before her.

She placed a hand on his heaving chest.

"But you did not return." Her voice cracked as well.

"I had been called away - on urgent business - over my sister." Darcy knew he rambled, but his current mind possessed next to no clarity. "I settled her situation as speedily as I could and returned to London to procure - "

He met her eyes. He felt the smallness of her stature, as tirelessly as she may strive to present herself with strength and spirit.

He placed a hand over the one on his chest.

"Did you ever receive my note, Elizabeth?"

She shook her head.

Darcy felt his soul sinking into a bottomless pit.

"Oh, Elizabeth."

"Who did you - "

"It was a footman, a messenger only," Darcy admitted. "I instructed that he give it to you upon your emergence from your guest chambers that morning."

"Oh."

"I expected to return within two days. I - " He looked directly into her eyes, grasping for her heart amidst the chaos of the hour. "I always wished to marry you, Elizabeth."

"But you did not come."

"I - " He trembled once more. A thousand things he ought to have done differently spilled and floundered through his mind. "When I managed to return to London, I was accosted with the news - that you were already engaged to another."

"To Mr. Collins."

"To whom, I did not know." He clasped her fingers as tightly as he could without causing her pain. "I was a fool, Elizabeth. Why did I not write you again? Why did I - "

Sobs overcame him as he hung his head.

Every condemnation he had dared to hold against her in the past half year now turned to punish him instead. They destroyed his arrogance, ruined his pride.

"I loved you," he said, when the sobs subsided in power, "I love you still - and I cannot live with myself knowing that I am the sole contributor to your irreversible sorrow."

"Darcy," she whispered his name in reply.

He watched in awe as she reached to cradle his face with her free hand.

Her eyes were teary still, but her voice was level now.

"There were two of us in that bedroom in Netherfield," said she. "I cannot place all the blame upon you."

And that sliver of mercy - that olive branch of unmerited grace - undid so much of everything that Darcy believed himself to be that he found that he knew himself no longer.

"Elizabeth," he cried again - before he lowered his lips to hers.

She did not pull away. And so, before he could end one kiss, he already began another.

He slid his arms around her to press her closer. He felt her trembling fingers clinging to his coat. They were not deep kisses in the strictly physical sense of the word - but every touch of their lips spoke volumes that their words could not.

Every kiss meant that he, and she, truly cared. Every kiss meant that the exchange at Netherfield was, without the cruel twists of fate, never meant to end unresolved. He kissed Elizabeth, his Elizabeth, with every inch of his being.

She must know what she meant to him.

She must know that he had never, ever meant to abandon her.

"Mrs. Collins," a servant's voice cut through the haze.

Slowly, the kisses parted.

"Mrs. Collins." The sound of approaching footsteps accompanied the second call.

With utmost reluctance, Darcy lowered his arms and took one step back. He felt similar intensity radiating from her.

"Mrs. Collins," Darcy greeted, with a quiver in his voice and a nod of his head.

"Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth curtsied.

And he walked away from the parsonage before the servants could arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, angst, angstity, angst. I will be taking a short break from this story to finish up "Franchise" and then post a Christmas-themed story for a few weeks. I promise we will get to that HEA, and I will keep polishing the rest of this story! Thank you for your patience!


	5. Spare Me the Choice

He trudged to the edge of the water, his soul as heavy as a ten-pound rock.

It had not required much observation to gather from the Rosings servants that Elizabeth was often to be found walking in the mornings - and visiting the lake at this particular spot. No one gave a second thought to the fact that Mr. Darcy, perhaps just like his aunt, wished to know the whereabouts of anyone under the employ of the de Bourgh estate.

If anything, it was Darcy's own conscience that brought about his unsettlement.

For the first time in his life, Darcy had asked to be excused from dinner without just cause. He had refused to speak when Richard expressed some concern. Then all night, he had tossed and turned in turmoil - haunted by images of an abandoned child and a woman coerced to marry Mr. Collins.

Invariably, those nightmares ended in some form of retribution for him, the guilty master of Pemberley, condemned in the presence of all of England - only to renew its course again.

"Mr. Darcy."

He looked up at the address.

She had come.

She had seen him and not fled.

He took some degree of comfort in that fact.

He turned slowly to face her.

"Miss Elizabeth." He bowed his head.

She curtsied, gracefully despite her rounding form.

She was exquisite.

He was accursed.

For the first quarter of an hour, they stood in silence, each looking over the calm waters of the lake in wordless contemplation.

Then she spoke. "I assume, Mr. Darcy, that you are here to see me - and to speak to me of certain things that may be on your mind. For I cannot imagine, sir, that you come only to consider the reflections on the water."

Darcy sighed. "You are as observant as you always have been, madam."

She inclined her head slightly. She closed her eyes briefly before opening them again.

He had so many things he wished to say - innumerable confessions and countless apologies. He wished to hold her and to kiss her. He wished to whisk her away to a faraway land where she could have their child in peace with nary a sight of Aunt Catherine or the stupendously stupid Mr. Collins.

He sniffed at the thought that he could not.

"I barely slept last night," Darcy began. "I could not rest - knowing the sorrows that my choices have caused, knowing the irrevocable consequences of my ill-timed passions."

She looked at the lake, but he knew she listened.

"I struggled with the Lord," he continued. "I cursed Him for causing my sister to fall in harm's way just at the very hour I needed to be with you. I lamented to Him over the unfairness of our circumstances. It was one night - one magical stolen night - a night when I had every intent to propose and to marry you. Why could He not have let us wait another time to conceive?

"I worn out every corner of my room with my pacing and gnashing. Then I began to beg. I begged of our God that He would smite Mr. Collins with an untimely death that I may claim you for myself."

There was an audible hitch in Elizabeth's breath.

Darcy shook his head, sighing, and continued.

"It was an uncharitable thought - but a thought I meant in its entirety. I cannot bear to watch you, Elizabeth, darling, suffer his insults and implications that his wife knew nothing - when I know that you are the most brilliant and beguiling woman I have ever had the honor to know."

Her eyes misted. Darcy felt his own vision blurring as well.

He inhaled deeply - and sighed it all away.

"But that is not for me to pray." He closed his eyes, paused, and reopened them. "And when my anger and my vengeance finally began to cool - I came to see how I have none to blame but my own lack of wisdom and self-control. Could I not have stopped at kissing you? Could I not have visited your father first before returning to London? All those weeks I struggled to contain my sister's stumbles - could I not have spared some time to pen a real letter to the one person who occupied my thoughts night and day?"

Her tears flowed freely now.

He seemed to have a knack at making her cry.

He did not like that he had a knack for such a grievous thing.

Gently, he reached for her hand. She let him take it.

"I spent half the night groveling for the Lord's forgiveness." He closed his fingers tightly around Elizabeth's. "Now, I seek yours."

"Of course," her reply was as immediate as it was hopeful. Her smile was bleak, but true. "I could not have found the strength to survive to this day - if I had not."

She was exquisite, and he could not help but pull her right then into his arms.

She stiffened at first, before leaning against his chest - her back enveloped by his arms. He hugged her tightly, eager to feel her presence after a long, dreary lifetime without her presence.

He loved her.

He needed her.

He had wronged her, and she had forgiven him - and there was nothing more appealing in her than that unmerited grace.

"Elizabeth," he whispered against her hair.

She sniffed in his arms.

In another world, in another life - one free from the repercussions of this one - they were two young lovers, embracing each other beside a favorite lake.

She pulled back first, hands trembling slightly as she wiped her tears. "We could be seen."

He agreed, unhappily, and let her go.

It was his firmest belief that she belonged in his arms - and it tortured him that he had no right to stake that claim.

"Your fiancée would not be happy to see you holding the parson's wife, sir," Elizabeth said with a teary chuckle.

Her words surprised him.

"My fiancée?" Darcy frowned.

"Miss de Bourgh?"

"I - who - why would - " Darcy's frown deepened. "Elizabeth, I am not engaged."

"Forgive me for surmising incorrectly, but I learned soon upon my arrival at Kent that Miss de Bourgh is betrothed to her cousin from Derbyshire. It was confirmed to me last night by my husband that you are that cousin, sir."

Darcy sighed then - a long, world-weary sigh of the elderly that a man below thirty had no right to heave.

"I am not engaged," he insisted.

Elizabeth nodded slowly. "Very well."

"Anne is nothing to me beyond a cousin. It is my aunt who - " Darcy breathed deeply. The futility of the situation wore him down. What if Elizabeth did believe him to be a free man?

She was not a free woman.

Was she?

"Please believe me, Elizabeth, that I have never been engaged to another woman - and any such claims are false rumors or flights of fancies by the matrons of my circles. I met you in Hertfordshire a free man, and I would have eagerly married you if I had known you wished to marry me.

"You were not a meaningless encounter. You were and are everything to me."

This time, it was she who embraced him.

"Dearest Elizabeth," he murmured against her ear as she clung to him.

She burrowed her face against his shoulder in response.

He comforted her, as she comforted him. They were two halves to a whole.

Around them, the early morning birds tweeted their songs as if in soft jubilation. How Darcy yearned to rejoice with them.

"I do not regret praying for your husband's demise," said Darcy, when her initial sobbing had subsided. "He does not deserve you."

Elizabeth shook her head against his shoulder.

Her pain was unbearable to him. He could barely stand.

"Come away with me, Elizabeth," he offered in impulse. He pulled back to see her face. "We can pack our things and flee this night. I can write to my solicitor to arrange for my papers. We can find new names and new places. We can claim the life that was meant to be ours."

His excitement was - fortunately and unfortunately - not mirrored in her face.

"Elizabeth?"

Her smile was pained. "Darcy."

"Yes?"

She rested her hands on his chest. His heartbeat felt thunderous under her touch.

"Please spare me the choice," she whispered.

He blinked, struggling to keep the tears at bay.

"I have had to paid great penance for my life as a fornicator. Please - do not tempt me to be an adulterer as well."

She was right.

And it was with a measureless pain in his heart that he admitted she was right.

He nodded slowly.

Then, with the force it took to remove a stake that had been driven deep into the ground, he tore his hands from her shoulders.

"I understand." His voice broke.

Her hands cradled her belly once more.

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy, for all that you have given me today."

Darcy nodded with an ache in his heart. "You are most welcome, Miss Elizabeth."

She paused for a moment.

"I'm afraid that is no longer my name."

Darcy felt his heart shattered, trodden, and tossed upon the waves of the sea.

"You are most welcome, Mrs. Collins." Then he bowed and took his leave.

* * *

His sleep that night proved to be as tumultuous as the night preceding it. This time, the dreams of a carriage running over _both_ Mr. Collins and his darling Elizabeth were accompanied with ear-splitting screeches from Aunt Catherine.

Or, perhaps, those screeches were true.

"The wishes of your family, the hopes of your own dear mother - you _cannot_ betray them. What shall Anne do at your abandonment? How _can_ you be so heartless against your own dear cousin!" She had screamed all of last night.

Darcy woke with a resounding headache. Every thing in his Rosings room - used as ammunition by his furious aunt the evening before - repelled him now. Richard, standing to the side with a snicker or two of his own while Darcy desperately tried to make Aunt Catherine see reason, had been of no help.

But, at least, his cousin had agreed - after their aunt's screaming kept the whole household awake far past midnight - that it was time for them to depart from Rosings. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and the mistress of Rosings was expected to seethe for at least half a year over Darcy's vehement insistence that he would _never_ marry Anne.

Darcy approached his trunk with a darkened soul.

What had begun as a tiresome annual trip to Kent had turned into a life-altering visit. He was leaving a different man - a man sobered and humbled by the reality he had created for himself.

Darcy sighed almost every other minute as he gathered the things he wished to have the servants transfer to the carriage later. His heart longed to stay, to anchor himself to Elizabeth at her highest hour of need. She was a strong woman of irrefutable resilience - but a woman married to that toad of a man had every right to receive the full support of those around her.

But she had reminded him - rightfully and painfully so - that she was no longer his Elizabeth.

She was Mrs. Collins.

And Darcy knew he had to physically flee the county to avoid being confronted with that heartbreaking truth at every hour of every day.

He descended the stairway three full hours after he had risen from bed, a broken man in place of the bitter one who had ascended those selfsame stairs as a new arrival less than a month ago.

He knew he had to take leave of Aunt Catherine, despite how indignant she still was at his perceived abandonment of his fabricated engagement to Anne and how spiteful she would be over his _actual_ abandonment of Rosings today.

Yet it could not be helped.

Every encounter he had had with Mrs. Collins in the past two days had resulted in some form of physical affection. He could only imagine how far their actions would escalate if they were to cross paths more often.

She asked him to spare her the choice.

He could only do that if he managed to remove the choice from himself as well.

"Is she inside?" Darcy asked the footman posted at the music room door.

At the footman's indication that the only _she_ that mattered in this household was indeed inside, Darcy steeled himself and entered.

He rehearsed his words in his mind. He prepared for the undue recriminations that his aunt would most definitely hurl his way. One night was hardly long enough for a woman as arrogant as Lady Catherine de Bourgh to consider that those who agreed with her could have reasons of their own to do so.

What greeted Darcy instead was the sight of Mr. Collins half-seated, nearly-kneeling before his patroness, blabbering on about some incoherent apology.

Darcy sighed under his breath, hardly wanting to begin a doomed conversation with his aunt.

"I must apologize, Lady Catherine, for my inability to reign my incompetent wife under control," the parson's voice grew louder as he spoke. "You see, she was tending the gardens and, being ignorant on how to care for my son as she wobbled about the grounds, she has allowed herself to suffer a fall."

The words struck Darcy at his most unexpected moment.

"You should have taught her better," Aunt Catherine declared, her chin held up as if gliding into a ballroom.

"I apologize profusely, Lady Catherine, for my neglect in telling her that it is indeed her sole responsibility to care for my son. It is but proper that she should suffer for her own incompetence, but one would not like to see one's heir harmed."

"Has the midwife visited?"

"The midwife declared, thank the Good Lord, that my son is safe. It is, of course, due fully to Providence and not at all to my foolish wife's _utter_ lack of care."

"You say she fell."

"Backwards into the vegetables, Lady Catherine. And one must say how inconsiderate of a place it was to fall! All the food that the gardens could have provided are now destroyed thanks to her inability to manage herself properly. I reprimanded her as soon as the servants informed me of her misdeed."

"It was very uncareful of her. When _I_ was carrying Anne, I did everything in my power to ensure that I remained upright."

"Most inconsiderate, most inconsiderate indeed. If my wife could but learn from your Ladyship, madame, I am quite certain she would have managed to tend the garden _and_ run the home _and_ keep my son safe."

"It is a pity."

"It is a pity indeed, Lady Catherine. I had wished to marry my fair Cousin Jane first, of course, but being that she was already being courted by another, I had no choice but to propose to Elizabeth instead. It was a poor choice, a very poor choice."

"Mr. Collins!" Darcy thundered, hands fisted and veins fiery. He was offending his aunt by not acknowledging her, but he had no choice - for nothing else mattered at this very moment other than Elizabeth' welfare and the ugly way her imbecilic husband continued to refer to Darcy's own child as 'his son.' "What happened to Mrs. Collins?"

"Ah, Mr. Darcy!" Mr. Collins turned to him with his dull and stupid eyes. "Thank you for your concern, good sir. You see my wife, who has foolishly allowed herself to fall - most inconsiderately, if I may say - in the midst of our gardens, is currently unable to fulfill her duties as a parson's wife. Breakfast was most distasteful this morning without her directions for the servants, and I am here to inform your aunt, the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh, of the undesirable circumstances into which the Hunsford parsonage has now descended."

Darcy struggled not to hit the man.

He struggled most keenly.

"And how is Mrs. Collins now?"

"She is, as aforementioned, confined to the bed at this moment. The midwife assured me that Mrs. Collins ought to be able to perform her usual duties in the span of a week, once the bleeding ceases, of course. It is a shame, naturally, that she cannot make herself to be more useful until then - but I suppose the welfare of my son is to be the perfect opportunity for her to idle."

"Women ought not to be idle," Aunt Catherine interjected.

Now, Darcy struggled not to hit _her_.

The master of Pemberley mustered all the strength he had to retain a calm facade.

"Aunt Catherine," he now addressed the lady. She glared at him, though it was clear that she was listening. "Perhaps we ought to summon the doctor? One can hardly expect the midwife to know enough to assist Mrs. Collins."

"Ah, your wisdom, Mr. Darcy, knows no bounds!" The parson cried. "Lady Catherine, you have indeed taught your nephews most perfectly. They are each and every one a spitting image of your insight and perception."

Darcy swallowed repeatedly until his mouth ran dry.

"Yes, of course." Aunt Catherine preened under her parson's praise. "I suppose we ought to bring the doctor to Mrs. Collins. It seems as if she would need all our help. Darcy, shall you come with me?"

And what else was Darcy to do but nod and agree?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twists galore! While the last chapter was one of my least favorite parts of this story (so much pain), the lakeside scene in the beginning of this one is one of my favorites. It is still sad, but at least ODC had a chance to calm already. I hope I conveyed everything in this chapter well!


	6. A Torturous Path

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" The parson barked as their entourage descended upon his home. The way he spat his wife's name - the way he barged gracelessly from room to room to make way for his patroness, appearing far more preoccupied with the great Lady Catherine's approval than his own wife's welfare - disgusted Darcy to his very core. Mr. Collins glared at a passing servant. "Where is Mrs. Collins?"

"In - in the bedroom, sir."

"Oh, what idleness!" Mr. Collins was quick to proclaim. He twisted his pudgy body around to face Aunt Catherine. "Please forgive me, Lady Catherine, for my utter failure to remove such entitlement from her country manners. It is but proper that she ought to be here, tending to our guests - when your graciousness has taken the pains to call upon our humble home!"

"Mr. Collins," Darcy interrupted, stepping closer to the intolerable man, "perhaps we ought to have Dr. Redford examine the patient first?"

Aunt Catherine declared her approval, the parson muttered his agreement, and Dr. Redford proceeded to fulfill the task for which he had been summoned. The rest of the party, including the husband of the woman currently suffering, remained in the parlor.

Darcy paced the length of the room, his heart a veritable storm. Was this God's way of punishing him? Would the loss of the child - his child - be the ultimate sanction - the double tragedy that required the sacrifice of human life _and_ rendered Elizabeth's lifelong sacrifice irrelevant?

Darcy worried. Darcy mourned.

How did one marvelous night in Netherfield result in such a terrifying situation?

"Darcy, you truly ought not to pace so much. It aggravates my headache." Aunt Catherine spoke directly to her nephew for the first time this morning.

Darcy took the olive branch - and chose to sulk to the side instead.

"Lady Catherine, shall I have my wife prepare tea?" Mr. Collins did not cease to aggravate.

Darcy exerted the strength of an army to keep his sigh inaudible. Richard had deigned to sleep some more rather than participate in this call. Darcy had no one to take his side.

"Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine, Mr. Darcy," Dr. Redford greeted as he emerged into the parlor another hour hence. Darcy felt himself unfurling to receive the news - any news - that the man of medicine could impart. Aunt Catherine remained seated.

"What of the parson's wife?" Aunt Catherine inquired with the haughty tone that she seemed unable to ever remove from her voice.

Dr. Redford bowed. "The child is safe, as is Mrs. Collins for the time being."

"Oh, Lady Catherine, your very presence has lent its help to my child! Surely, the - "

"There is a great chance, however," the doctor continued before Mr. Collins could. Darcy nearly hugged the man. "That the bleeding might recommence with physical engagement. She must not involve herself in any difficult tasks or any - conjugal visits - until the child is delivered."

The clouds in Darcy's mind swirled and shifted - alternating between sunshine and rain. She was safe! And yet, she was not.

How could he leave now - knowing that he remained the only person left in the entire county who cared for Elizabeth's true good health?

"That is most unfortunate, for I can hardly run a parish without a wife!" Mr. Collins cried, perhaps forgetting that he had done exactly that for some time before wedding Elizabeth.

"It is undesirable, yes," Aunt Catherine agreed.

The doctor merely bowed, elaborating no further.

Darcy frowned, trapped between the propriety of his position and the keenness of his concern. Oh, how he longed to run to her room this very moment, to gather her in his arms and assure her that he would stand by her no matter what circumstances may transpire! How dearly he wished - even if, at the expense of his very life - that she bore the name of Mrs. Darcy rather than Mrs. Collins at this hour.

To lose the woman he loved to another man was hardship enough. To lose her to a fool who did not care a whit for her was cruel and unusual punishment.

"Who shall govern your home now?" Aunt Catherine's voice rose above every head in the room. Even in the hour of greatest need, she remained detached.

"Forgive me, Lady Catherine, for having to impose upon your wisdom once more!" Mr. Collins was quick to respond, with a hefty amount of bowing himself. "It was upon your most gracious advice that I wed Mrs. Collins, and I am afraid that I am quite at a loss of what to do now that she has been so horribly incapacitated."

"It is unfortunate, yes," repeated his patroness.

There was a slight alteration in Aunt Catherine today - a thoughtfulness that never seemed to be there before.

Darcy had no time now to dwell upon it.

He had to act swiftly - and to hope that his gamble reaped its desired results.

"Aunt Catherine," he stepped closer to the lady who commanded all in the room right now. "Perhaps we at Rosings can assist the Collins household during this most unfortunate trial. It would not do for the villagers to see the parsonage neglected."

If there ever was anything Darcy had learned from Richard - it was that appealing to their aunt's desire for a good reputation always, _always_ worked.

"Yes, we must ensure that it cannot be," his aunt agreed.

"Oh, Lady Catherine, you are most wise! If my fool of a wife could but learn half of your insight and wisdom, she would never have allowed herself to fall into such an undesirable predicament!" Mr. Collins, as always, was proving himself a man deserving of many a slap and more.

"If I may, Aunt Catherine," Darcy continued, eager and nervous at pressing his luck, "I can act as your viceroy. Anne cannot be near illness. Your ladyship could hardly be expected to visit a humble parsonage every day. Perhaps - perhaps having your nephew carry on your instructions each day would be a much more desirable case."

His aunt did not reply immediately. Every individual waited for her response with bated breath.

There was that pensiveness on her face once more. Darcy wondered at her thoughts.

"That is wise," she said at last. "Let us return to Rosings. The room is far too stuffy for my tastes. I shall leave my instructions with my nephew. Lord knows he knows how to run a household well enough."

Darcy nodded before walking out of the house behind his aunt, and beside the good doctor.

In a matter of minutes, his own suggestions had decided his fate.

To stay at Rosings further - to visit the parsonage daily - would be a torturous path to walk.

But it was a path he would walk to the very best of his abilities.

He owed Elizabeth as much.

* * *

She did not understand it at first - why her husband rose earlier than he used to, stomped around the house in his misguided way, and yelled at the servants to make sure the parsonage appeared presentable. He had never invested himself in running the household before - only caring to belittle his wife for her presumed neglect over a pristine home. It made no sense for him to interfere now.

Her fall yesterday had shocked her, and the blood that leaked between her thighs - however briefly - had sent a panic to her core that she hoped never to relive.

Mr. Collins had launched almost immediately into a lecture over her accident, mentioning multiple times the ruined state of the gardens, before making off for Rosings himself. She had been left to suffer on her own upstairs, fretting and fearing over the worst that could be.

Mr. Darcy was not hers. Her husband was not hers. Her family had never felt farther away than they were now.

The child was all she had - and she trembled at the thought of losing it.

Then Dr. Redford came - Dr. Redford, who hailed from London and came only to tend to Miss de Bourgh - stepped foot in the humble parsonage to treat her. He spoke gently and discretely; and after he left, the world calmed.

Elizabeth could hardly imagine what could have happened to bring about such an alteration in her world.

And her mind wandered even as she slipped downstairs today, awed by the stillness that governed her home now despite the early morning's rancor.

Then she entered the parlor.

"Mr. Darcy!" Her right hand braced itself against the open doorframe as her left hand rested upon her belly. The action was instinctive to her now.

The tall, handsome man whom her heart longed for turned to face her.

His gaze flowed deeply - a rushing river beneath a shallow calm. The strength in his frame remained, though the haughtiness of the past felt tempered.

"You must not be up and about, Mrs. Collins." There was no anger in his tone - no accusation, no force. Every word carried a firm, moving strength that warmed Elizabeth's chilled bones. "Dr. Redford has instructed - as has Lady Catherine - that you are to be afforded every rest."

She blinked at him, bewildered.

Was Mr. Darcy the promised guest that had sent her husband into a frenzy this morning? Why was Mr. Darcy even here - unaccompanied yet confidently ordering _her_ to rest in her own home?

"Mr. Darcy." Her voice quivered slightly. "I fear I do not comprehend the reason for your presence - though it not unwelcome, of course."

He smiled softly at her, and she was nearly transported to the fireplace at Netherfield, whose light had given her the first glimpse she had ever had of that charming smile.

"Shall you sit, Mrs. Collins?" He gestured at the couch. She wandered towards it and settled herself obediently. He chose to sit in the armchair facing her.

"I am here under the provisions of my aunt," he explained, civil and kind, "As Dr. Redford has clearly instructed that you must, under no circumstances, be permitted to engage in physical pursuits, Lady Catherine has graciously ensured that I tender her daily instructions to the household that the parish may run as it should."

Elizabeth allowed the words to form meaning in her befuddled mind.

"Daily instructions, sir?" She asked cautiously. She did not know if she ought to hope.

She did not even know what she was truly hoping for.

Mr. Darcy lowered his face for a moment before looking up once more. "Lady Catherine wishes that the parish be run well despite any limitations that may have fallen upon the parson's wife. I merely carry out her instructions. For her sake, Mrs. Collins, I shall call upon the house every day to ensure everything is running as it should. There shall be no exceptions to Dr. Redford's instructions. No harm shall be allowed to come upon the child - or its mother."

His voice shook slightly at the last word.

And Elizabeth knew then.

He was doing all of it for her.

He was staying in Kent - staying at Rosings - to hide behind his aunt's farce - to care for her.

She had no husband to care for her. Her family felt far too far away.

But despite the insurmountable circumstances, she had _him_.

And Mr. Darcy would be present to care - to invest himself in her welfare to the neglect of his own family and assets.

He loved her.

And the knowledge that she loved him as well caused tears to pool uncontrollably in Elizabeth's eyes.

He moved to sit beside her when her sobbing began.

"Mrs. Collins," he said gently, no matter how much pain the name probably brought him. "Please - do not fret. For the parish's sake, I shall be your liege man of life and limb. Allow me to alleviate any sorrow you may feel."

He did not touch her, not like he did before.

She both thanked him and cursed him for being the gentleman that he was now.

"Thank you," she whispered, when she managed to wrangle her sobs to more presentable sniffs.

His smile at her appeared pained, but gentle and sincere.

"I shall stay as long as I am needed, Elizabeth," he whispered under his breath. "And if you are to be Mrs. Collins for the rest of my life - then I shall have to content myself with that name - and to love the woman who bears it in whatever way I can."

Her tears flowed freely down her face and onto her dress. He offered her his handkerchief. She accepted it with trembling fingers.

He let her weep all she needed to weep - and then he aided her to her feet.

"Do rest in your room, Mrs. Collins," he said, removing his hands from her arms as soon as she gained her balance. "I shall see to everything else."

And oh how her heart rent! And oh how her chest ached!

But there was nothing to be done.

There was plenty to rue over in the past - but there was little one could darn in the fabric of the present.

And whatever one _could_ fix, her Mr. Darcy was already doing.

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy," she said with a smile. He bowed, and she left for her room.

On another day, she would ask him how he found the strength to act as he did now. Perhaps the day after that, she might ask him how he planned to face the reality of his child being born a parson's son - a disdainful parson's son - to bear the name of a father who did not deserve him.

Perhaps they may even pray together - to beg the Lord for another measure of mercy in letting the child be a daughter instead.

All those, they might do another day.

For she would see him now, every day.

And in the midst of the ocean in which she was drowning, Elizabeth knew she had found her raft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the overwhelming response! I am humbled that many are so invested in this story. I think we all agree about Collins being the absolute worse!


	7. Penance Enough

The weight on his shoulders at the first revelation of Elizabeth's accident had felt heavy enough to crush his soul.

These days, having survived his existence in Rosings for nearly two months' time, Darcy found the weight familiar, if not any lighter.

Richard had not lasted long past the new arrangement. With his wife mostly bedridden, Mr. Collins now appeared daily at his patroness's side, never ceasing to fill Rosings Park's halls with his praise and adulation. And Darcy's daily trips to the parsonage, though largely driven to tend to Elizabeth, became slightly motivated as well by the need to escape the odious man. Aunt Catherine and Anne did not seem to mind the strange company, but Richard had fled a fortnight ago.

There was a delicate truce these days between Darcy and his aunt.

She persisted in referring every day to Darcy's single state, and her wordings leaned heavily towards an arranged marriage with someone she would deem a 'suitable match.' But, to the lady's credit, she never did mention Anne in particular as a choice for Darcy's bride. And far be it from Darcy to rock the boat now.

Whenever Mr. Collins or, upon occasion, Darcy made mention of Mrs. Collin's physical state, the mistress of Rosings would listen with impressive attention before pronouncing an obligatory comment or two. Her words were often silly or misguided, but surprisingly never harsh.

It was as if Elizabeth's fragile state led her to finally be acknowledged as a person in the eyes of the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

"Your stationery, sir." The footman presented the materials that Darcy had requested a half hour ago.

"Thank you." Darcy dismissed the boy.

Things tended to be idyllic in the countryside.

Darcy missed his London home - his study, his friends, his room. He wondered constantly about Pemberley, wishing that he could manage it in person rather than from afar.

But Elizabeth was here in Kent, strapped to an unforgiving life.

And Darcy was determined to remain by her side as long as he could.

Every day now, he watched her body grow as it nurtured the child within her womb. Every day, Darcy longed to reach out to touch her womanly form.

Every day, he had to resist.

And every night, he fell to his knees beside his bed, begging the Lord that the child be a daughter.

For how could Darcy live with himself if his son - his firstborn son - were robbed of his inheritance because of his father's foolishness in Hertfordshire and his aunt's poor judgment in Ramsgate?

The road to forgiveness had been a long one.

It took Darcy many days to truly confess his sins before the Lord - to unravel the bitterness and rage within himself until he leaned wholly upon His mercy. And then there was his score to settle with himself - the acceptance of his own choices and the determination to bear with their consequences.

He had to forgive himself, to forgive his own foolishness and pride, his impulsiveness and anger. Could he not have ridden to Hertfordshire at the news of Elizabeth's engagement? Could he not have tried to reconcile the Elizabeth he thought he knew and the one the rumors attributed her to be?

But his mind had been clouded - shrouded by fear and contempt and uncertainty. Ramsgate had shaken him so thoroughly that all rationale had fled his person.

And the sorrow from that moment on had led to Darcy destroying relationship after relationship in his life - with his aunt, with his cousin, with his sister.

Then Elizabeth, with all that she was, had reemerged into his life in the most dramatic of ways - and reminded him to be what he ought to be.

Circumstances robbed him of the chance to be the husband and the father that he so desperately wished to be.

But he was still a gentleman, a nephew, a cousin, a friend.

He was still a brother.

And Darcy, prevented from writing to the woman he loved most by the vengeance of life, lifted his pen to write to the other young woman who mattered most to him.

It was a letter long overdue.

_Dear Georgiana,_

_Forgive me for my neglect of late. I have no excuse to offer. I hope with all my heart that you are recovering from your recent heartaches, and I pray that you read this letter with more optimism for our family than disdain for my past inconsiderations._

_Since our parting in London, a variety of circumstances have compelled me to consider my own shortcomings in various life matters - including that of my chosen associations of the romantic kind. I have discovered, for one, how foolishly I have been allowing our aunt to persist in her delusion that Anne and I would one day marry, and I have taken the pains to inform her of my perspective. She did not take it well, as one may expect, but she and I have since come to a precarious truce that I am more than happy to maintain._

_Kent has been warming early this year, the skies clear and the sunshine keen more often than not. My annual stay has prolonged itself due to certain events that I would much prefer to relate to you in person, and I am experiencing the early height of summer here for the first time. Would you prefer to visit? I understand that the distractions of London may prove more entertaining for a young lady. One can hardly presume, after all, that anyone staying upon our aunt's property is doing so by personal volition, uninhibited by other reasons. But if you wish for some countryside air, I should be able to secure our aunt's permission to invite you, as I am unable to take us to Pemberley for the time being._

_How are you, Georgie? I'm afraid I have taken far too long to ask this question. I have never been of the eloquent sort, and I fear you have suffered greatly for your lack of a female influence in the family. I strive my best to provide you with the houses and privileges you deserve, dear one, but I fear I have fallen short in granting you a true home._

_Be well, my dearest sister. I selfishly hope you do not tarry in your correspondence as I am wont to do. Do tell Mrs. Johnson of whatever you wish to purchase. She is under strict orders to provide you with the greatest comfort you require._

_Yours,  
Fitzwilliam Darcy_

* * *

"Mrs. Collins, is the water temperature appropriate today?"

Elizabeth finished wiping her face dry before turning towards the maid. Her life in the past ten weeks had changed its face so many times that she inevitably braced herself for sudden change at any hour.

But, to Mr. Darcy's credit, his strange arrangement with Lady Catherine had resulted in a stagnant calm of sorts for everyone involved. Every day, her fool of a husband would bumble his way through his morning routine and take off for his patroness's home, tarrying there until supper. Every day, Mr. Darcy, the designated regent, would arrive an hour before noon to repeat a spiel of random instructions - and to see to Elizabeth's every comfort.

Whatever respect Mr. Collins never managed to earn from his own servants, Mr. Darcy commanded in spades.

And soon, every room was cleaner, every dish was fresher, and every item in the house was more suited to her delicate state.

He was a proud man - a quiet man - one who seldom ventured to speak or to admit any wrongdoing on his part.

But had not his constant and devoted care, day after day, for weeks on end been penance enough? Could anyone claim with any righteousness that he did not strive to compensate for the sorrows his actions had caused?

He said he had written a note, a careless note trusted carelessly to a faceless footman.

Perhaps, one day, they would discover whatever happened to the note. Perhaps they never would.

Truly, it did not matter any more.

"It is perfect as it is. Thank you," Elizabeth replied to the maid, who sighed and smiled at last before approaching to take away the basin.

The promise of recrimination at the hand of the firm Mr. Darcy did wonders to her staff.

Elizabeth thanked him.

She could not thank him in person. Her words, since their meeting by the lake, had been limited to variations on her gratefulness and assurances of her comfort. He never pressed for more - no matter how many ravenous words his eyes would whisper.

Those words were for another woman, in another lifetime.

They had to content themselves with the circumstances they had now.

She descended the stairs with care, her girth now wider than Mama's, though Dr. Redford had assured her that she would grow bigger still in the final month. News arrived yesterday regarding Jane's expecting state. Mama had sounded ecstatic, even with her limited words, declaring that both her daughters would bear sons within the year.

It occurred to Elizabeth that even if Mama knew the true origin of the child she currently carried, her joy would not be tarnished one bit.

Life did delight in irony.

"Mrs. Collins," the servant greeted her in the hallway. Elizabeth nodded at the young woman before turning to enter the parlor. It was almost noon now. Mr. Darcy would be here - and they would exchange cool greetings and heated gazes as they always did. And he would ask after her, and she would say she was well, and he would manage to conjure a new rule or request that added to her already exquisite comfort.

In many ways, her life now was far better than she would have dared to hope for a mere three months ago.

"He is not here?" Elizabeth frowned, when she found herself greeted by an empty room. He had mentioned his sister yesterday, and she longed to continue their discourse upon that topic. She also wished to talk to him as well about the gardens and the rabbit the cook's daughter had found.

Quite frankly, she just wished to see him and to talk to him - about anything at all.

"Where is Mr. Darcy?" She turned back to face the hallway, her voice higher than it tended to be of late.

"Mrs. Collins." The maid approached. "We have had no callers this morning."

"Oh." Elizabeth held her belly. "I see."

Where could he be?

What was he doing?

She had no right to question his whereabouts - and it irked her slightly that she had no such right.

"Do tell me if anyone calls," Elizabeth muttered.

The maid nodded before scurrying away.

Alone once more, Elizabeth moved towards the couch, an unrest in her heart.

It was unlike Mr. Darcy to alter his routine. It was even more unlike him to alter it without sending word.

He knew she was expecting him. He had to know, after the countless times they had shared tiny, gentle thoughts in this very room. They never conversed freely. They never dared to.

But they spoke in short spurts - and those short spurts had come to be her favorite entertainment every day.

The leaves rustled right outside the open window. There was an eerie calm to the air - like the silence before a raging storm, a stillness before a large, crashing wave.

Elizabeth felt her sides tighten.

There was something wrong - something gravely wrong about to happen.

"Mrs. Collins! Mrs. Collins!" Panting breaths mingled with rushing steps. It was an unfamiliar voice - not from one of her servants. "Mrs. Collins!"

Elizabeth looked up to the red-faced young man just when he barged into the parlor.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Collins - there was a - his heart - " The servant boy panted. He was from Rosings. Something had happened to her husband. The parsonage's staff began to huddle around the young boy. "Mr. Collins' heart failed this morning. Dr. Redford was called. The parson - the parson has passed."

Elizabeth frowned. The words did not have meaning.

"He clutched his heart before he fell," the boy braved on. Perhaps he knew Elizabeth did not understand. "Mr. Collins is - is dead, ma'am. I'm very sorry."

The servants gasped.

Elizabeth stared.

Mr. Collins - was dead.

Her husband - the man who ate far too much meat and wine for a parson, who never knew what was good for him, who left his home daily to gorge himself on the feast upon Lady Catherine's breakfast table that he may whine about their food at night - had abused his body so thoroughly that it chose to stop serving him.

Mr. Collins was dead.

Elizabeth was a widow - a widow heavy with child in a heartless world.

She did not cry, but her heart did clench and her limbs did tremble.

"Where is he - the body?" She barked.

"At Rosings, ma'am. Mr. Darcy sent a carriage - that you may take it if you preferred."

Elizabeth nodded and shoved herself off the couch.

"Take me there," she commanded - and she let the servants usher her into the carriage before she even thought of the growing ache in her belly and the feel of fluid beneath her dress.

* * *

"Mrs. Collins, you have to push!" a female voice hollered.

"Again, once more. Do not stop," another voice urged.

"Sir, you cannot enter!"

Muffled noises whirl in the recesses of her hearing. Deep, aching shots of pain muted her senses.

"Miss de Bourgh, perhaps the sight is not for you," a distant voice commanded. "Mr. Darcy, we will care for Mrs. Collins! She will be well!"

"Again, Mrs. Collins. Harder!" the voice closest to Elizabeth repeated.

Elizabeth had no words for the roaring waves of physical agony. She longed to curl into herself and drown herself in the ocean. She longed to thrash her arms until they obliterated every creature in their path.

"Push!"

She grappled for strength she did not have, every inch of her body drenched in sweat.

"Mr. Darcy! Again, you cannot come! She is not your wife. She is Mrs. Collins!"

The screeches and sounds and cries in the background swirled like a snowstorm around her. All she felt was pain - and pain - and pain some more. Perhaps, she was the sole creator of the deafening sounds reverberating throughout the guest room Lady Catherine had assigned her on sight. Frankly, Elizabeth no longer knew.

"It is early, but the child may live." The midwife's voice whispered through the fog. Dr. Redford was not here. Mr. Darcy was not here. Mr. Collins - Mr. Collins was dead, and the undertaker was the man who had watched with wide eyes as the servants ushered Elizabeth down the hall.

The child could still live - and Elizabeth clung to the hope with desperation as her body wrecked itself with immeasurable pain.

"I delivered Anne much faster," a woman announced outside the door.

"Aunt Catherine, it is not the time!" a man's voice shouted.

Elizabeth shut her eyes forcefully. She had to survive. The child had to survive.

Her arrival at Rosings had been nothing short of dramatic. She was lucky that Lady Catherine took an interest in her. It was that interest that had prevented her from being thrown into the streets.

"With vigor, Mrs. Collins. Again!" the midwife commanded.

The instructions came faster than her body could respond - but she fought, and she tried - with every inch of her being. There was nothing for her now save this child. There was no other purpose than to deliver it safely.

For him, for her - she had to give her all.

"Push!"

She groaned with desperation as she drew upon the fractured remnants of her tenacity. Her body burned. There was simply no way - no chance - no possibility that she could -

The sensation of a heavy sack twisting down her body her drew out her every breath.

"It is here!" a voice declared.

"It is moving!" another one added.

"Well done, Mrs. Collins."

Elizabeth gasped, feeling air enter her body for the first time in a lifetime.

"Mrs. Collins," the midwife addressed her as Elizabeth felt her body grow limp. "Here is your child."

Elizabeth watched, with a strange concoction of detachment and awe, as a crying babe was placed beside her. The blanket covered everything but the child's cherubic face.

"Mr. Darcy!" Shrieks from several female voices accompanied Mr. Darcy's forced entry into the room.

"Where is it?" He demanded, his eyes sifting through the mess that was the guest room. "Is it - is it a son?"

"No, sir," the midwife, perhaps having worked for many masters over the years, knew better than the question the strange whims of wealthy masters. "Mrs. Collins has born a daughter."

And Elizabeth slipped into her sleep with a smile, her fingertip against her daughter's cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those who have been following me for a while know my struggles with infertility. In a year of pandemics and global chaos, the Lord has chosen to bless us with twins; and it has been a wild ride since! That said, I had a scheduled C-section and therefore have no idea how it is to give birth normally. If anything about that birthing scene was particularly ridiculous, I apologize that you had to bear with me. Thank you for your patience!


	8. Her Newfound Purpose

Miss Anne de Bourgh was the first to suggest it. Mr. Darcy was the one to vehemently advocate her suggestion into fact.

With Mr. Collins gone with so untimely a death, it was but Christian charity for his patroness to open her home to his widow and child. And amidst the whirlwind of heart and mind that was her husband's death and her daughter's birth, Elizabeth found herself comfortably situated in Rosings Park for the rest of her confinement - with no definite end to her stay in sight.

The tiny creature that was her child - red-skinned and wheezing - nonetheless carried with her enough magnetism to draw the attention of every person in the entire household. Perhaps it had been too long since anyone new arrived at Rosings, or perhaps her daughter truly was a special and unique - but, regardless of reason, a domestic fascination descended upon the de Bourgh residence, and every person's well-being - and above all, Elizabeth's - became bundled up in the hands of the tiny human being.

Her every cry drew discussion. Her every meal drew praise. Even the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself inquired after the child every night.

It was a strange life - that of the parson's widow in his patroness's home.

But Elizabeth found herself minding it far less than she thought she would.

Slowly, her appetite grew. And as she visited her daughter's bedside those first few nights, she could not help but rejoice that the babe took after her mother's dark curls and brown eyes.

Or were those features her father's?

Frankly, Elizabeth did not know - and she felt as if she would never know. The child was a result of her parents' choice, as was Elizabeth's life these days.

After the torturous existence she experienced as Mr. Collins' wife, there was an unexpected but welcome serenity that came with boarding at Rosings Park. Here, at least, all things remained as they always were. Lady Catherine's complaints abounded at times, but they had lost their bite since the child's birth. Anne grew to be a friend - never failing to request whatever was needed for Mrs. and Miss Collins' comfort. Mr. Darcy remained in the house, reserved and restrained, but ever present to agree or disagree with his aunt as he desired.

It was a far cry from the life Elizabeth wanted - or the one she thought she had been destined to.

But with the arrival of the bundle of joy that was her daughter, the very essence of life itself had altered. No longer was it her goal to pursue her own happiness. No longer was it her priority to bring honor to her family. No longer was it her bane to please an impossible husband.

She had her newfound purpose - as a woman, as a mother.

And when Lady Catherine asked that night what she wished to name the babe, Elizabeth said, quite directly, "I believe she ought to be named Catherine Anne."

All eyes flew to her - Anne with a smile, Mr. Darcy with surprise, and Lady Catherine with a clear and obvious pleasure.

"I suppose that is proper," the lady declared, her voice lighter than Elizabeth had ever heard it before.

Anne, healthier than she had ever seemed, expressed her delight.

Mr. Darcy, perhaps remembering now that the name also honored his mother, nodded solemnly.

Elizabeth smiled. "I supposed I could call her Katie."

* * *

A full month had passed since Katie's birth the morning that Elizabeth finally found time to tarry in the gardens, on a crisp early winter morn, with her child bundled in her arms.

Dr. Redford had declared yesterday, to the entire household's delight, that Katie showed every sign of potential survival. And, to Elizabeth's delight, the doctor had declared it safe for her to take her daughter outdoors, as long as each of them were properly dressed for the cooling weather.

After months on end of being housebound, Elizabeth felt like a drowning woman finally coming up for air.

It was true that her stay at Rosings had become far more happy than she had ever considered it possible to be. Anne had grown into a dear friend, and Lady Catherine - for all her affinity for criticism - appeared genuinely distracted by her young namesake. The late Mr. Collins' patroness had even, in fact, expressed eagerness to host a grand meal for Catherine Anne's christening, when the day should arrive.

Elizabeth would hardly call Rosings Park home - but it was the closest thing she had to a home since that fateful night at Netherfield Park.

Now, no one could point fingers. Now, no one questioned why Katie did not carry a single feature that reflected her supposed late father's - for everyone was all too eager to forget what the strange and awkward Mr. Collins looked like.

From now on, the child was Elizabeth's and Elizabeth's alone.

Oh how she delighted in the thought!

The sound of a throat being deliberately cleared interrupted her musings.

Elizabeth turned her head slowly, unsure if she wished to discover who intruded upon her moment with her child.

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Mr. Darcy," she greeted, with a nod of her head, her arms secure around a sleeping Katie.

"Miss Elizabeth." He bowed, reverting now to how he used to address her before.

"May I help you, sir?"

It was the first time they spoke, unchaperoned, since the day her husband died.

It was a strange feeling to feel so old in her bones and yet so young under the influence of the pitter-patter of her heart.

"I was hoping you would grant me an audience, Elizabeth."

She inhaled, and then sighed - softly.

Wordlessly, she shifted on the garden bench to make room for him on her right. He nodded obligingly before taking his seat.

Katie stirred slightly, and Elizabeth quickly turned her attentions into calming the precious child. A small amount of cooing was all it took for the sweet girl to sleep again. Bit when Katie slept once more, Elizabeth was shocked to discover how closely Mr. Darcy now hovered against her shoulder, his eyes glued to the babe in her arms.

"She is beautiful," he said.

Elizabeth blinked, her throat tight. "She is."

"She looks like you."

"Thank you, sir."

"But her brows look like Georgiana."

Elizabeth had no answer to his statement. She herself had never met Georgiana Darcy, after all.

She leaned over to kiss her daughter's crown instead.

It was Mr. Darcy who broke the silence, after several minutes they spent adoring the child she carried. "I have tried to wait, Elizabeth - but a month has passed, and I can wait no longer."

Elizabeth's shoulders stiffened. She kept her eyes downcast and on her child.

"I cannot mourn the self-important, pompous man your husband was. I believe his end timely and fitting. Even my aunt has ceased to reminisce about him, despite his utter devotion to her. He was unfit to be a parson, and I am glad he is no longer one."

Elizabeth listened without speaking. It was not proper to speak ill of her husband yet, if ever at all.

"I do mourn, however," Mr. Darcy continued, his voice a gentle wave against her ear, "the state in which he has left you. I celebrate that the child is a daughter - but I know your family does not share my enthusiasm over the fact."

Elizabeth nodded one, sharp, single nod. She had brought up the fact at dinner the night before. Even Lady Catherine had scoffed at the thought of a daughter not mattering as much as a son.

Elizabeth was fast discovering an unlikely kinship with Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

"Mr. Collins has left with you nothing - no money, no home." Mr. Darcy's voice cracked slightly. "And though I know who Katie's father truly is, Mr. Collins did not - and it is incomprehensible for me to think that he could have planned so little for you and Katie's future."

Elizabeth blinked, facing away. She had no words, not now.

"Allow me, Elizabeth, to give you and our child the home you deserve." His hand landed lightly on her shoulder. Elizabeth felt her chest tightening, her eyes watering. "Marry me, Elizabeth. Allow me to be the father that I truly ought to be. Let me use my life to compensate for the ways I have wronged you."

Her heart beat dangerously fast against the cavity of her chest. The same overpowering feeling she had first tasted at Netherfield - a lifetime ago - threatened to overwhelm her. Her body longed to turn and thrust itself into Mr. Darcy's arms. The tenderness in his tone roused her heart and everything attached to it into a fervor.

But this time, she was different.

And the soft, purring sound of a sleeping babe in her arms altered everything beyond recognition.

"I can't," she replied, a few tears escaping her and dripping onto Katie's blanket.

"You - can't." He sounded incredulous. Perhaps he was. "Elizabeth, was not this all we have ever wanted, needed, and hoped for? You are free - and I am free. There is no just cause why we cannot - "

"I am a widow." She turned to look at him at last. She felt herself trembling. His eyes appeared grieved and offended. "I am a widow with a child. How can you choose to join yourself in marriage to a parson's widow - with a helpless daughter in tow?"

" _My_ helpless daughter in tow," he growled. There was some anger in the way he clutched her shoulders now. "Elizabeth, I cannot understand."

"You are the master of Pemberley." She smiled slightly, sniffing the entire way. "How can you stoop to marry a broken parson's widow?"

"I am not stooping, Elizabeth." He reached to trap her right hand tightly between his fingers. Katie slept in the crook of her left arm. "I am _choosing_ to marry _you_. The world's parsons can all die and leave a trail of young widows, and not a single one of them would catch my eye. I do not care for them, Elizabeth. I care only for you."

"But how can I?" She curled the tips of her fingers around his shaking ones. Her lips and heart trembled as well. "How can I promise myself to a man so soon after my husband's demise?"

"He was no husband to you."

"But he was, Fitzwilliam - and we would do well to remember that fact."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave you hanging! I will update again in a couple of weeks! This story has fourteen chapters drafted, so we don't exactly get to jump right to the HEA because Collins died. ODC honestly barely knew each other outside of their Netherfield tryst, so they still have some roads to wander through. Please bear with me!
> 
> In other news, The Widower has now been published on the Kindle Store as A Promise to Keep by Iris Lim. It is available for pre-order and will be published by February 24, 2021. Hurray! I will be pulling the free version from this site in compliance with Kindle policy. Thank you so much to everyone who has been supporting my writing journey one way or another. It means a lot to me to be part of the JAFF community. Thank you!
> 
> P.S. I will never start posting a story here only to leave it unfinished for publication purposes. I refuse to do that to my readers! So please rest assured that I will definitely post all the chapters of this story before I ever consider pulling it for publication. I hope that is assuring!


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